


Tapping of the Keg

by Juliska



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-09 03:31:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10402887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juliska/pseuds/Juliska
Summary: Warchief Vol'jin celebrates his first (and only) Brewfest as Warchief.  One shot.  Takes place right before the end of WoD/start of Legion.Edit:  Now it's a two shot because I had ideas.  For realsies this is the last one, though.





	1. Tapping of the Keg

_**Author’s Note:  Vol’jin, Saurfang, Orgrimmar, Brewfest, and the like are all copyright Blizzard Entertainment, used without permission or profit.**_  
  
#  
  
It was a hot autumn day in Orgrimmar, or more accurately, just outside of it.  Warchief Vol’jin reclined on his chair near the keg in a place of honor, lazily watching the Horde soldiers and civilians laughing and drinking.  
  
He had done the ceremonial tapping of the keg for years now, ever since Chen had introduced the Horde to the Brewfest holiday, but this was the first time he had done it as Warchief. They showed him the proper respect, as always, but he was pleased to see they were far more relaxed than they usually were.  
  
The campaign on Draenor was drawing to a close, and his commanders there informed him that that world’s Hellfire Citadel would fall soon.  Finally another threat would be gone, although it had cost far too many of his people’s lives as it were.  All of his people, not just the Darkspear, for he viewed them all as his family.  
  
He took a swallow of his own mug and closed his eyes for a moment, relaxing in the sun.  There was laughter and yelling all around him as most of the attendees gossiped and bragged.  His people were happy for once, and Azeroth was enjoying a rare peace.   The rebuilding from the civil war had been painful, but it seemed like it was finally working out.  
  
“Enjoying yourself, Warchief?” a voice asked from behind him.  
  
Vol’jin glanced around and smiled slightly at Saurfang as he approached.  “Ya, mon.  Ju know dis be my favorite time.”  
  
The older warrior approached him and stood beside him, crossing his arms.  The various races of the Horde mingled and laughed together.  Even the normally aloof blood elves were joining a few of their brethren in an orcish drinking song.  Vol’jin took another drink of his beer and watched silently for a moment until Saurfang spoke.  
  
“You should be proud, Warchief.  This is because of you.”  
  
“I’m sure dey be able to have Brewfest without me helpin’.”  
  
“That’s not what I’m referring to.  I mean all of this,” the orc said, waving his hand.  “You helped build this.”  
  
“Thrall be doin’ most of the work,” Vol’jin explained.  “If anyt’ing, he saved us.”  
  
“We would have starved in the desert without the Darkspear before we even got Orgrimmar built,” Saurfang argued.  “You do not give yourself enough credit.  You held us together through some terrible times.”  
  
Vol’jin smiled slightly at him.  “Well, I t’ank ya for da kind words,” he said, looking back over the crowd again.  His seat was slightly elevated and he could see them quite well.  Many wore tabards and armor that they obviously got from the newest Draenor campaign.  The shadow hunter somewhat painfully noted how young many of them appeared to be.  
  
_I’ve been doing this longer than I thought._  
  
Still, that was a concern for another time.  Now an incredibly unusual scenario had presented itself - peace.  Even the Alliance seemed fairly disinterested in a conflict.  For the first time since Vol’jin could remember, his people, his Horde, would be safe and happy, assuming the Draenor campaign wrapped up soon and in the way he expected.  
  
Then why did he feel so ill at ease?  
  
He finished his beer and gave himself a refill, thinking. Despite the relative good mood he was in during the day with the positive situation the whole of Azeroth seemed to find itself in, at night his sleep had been . . . fitful to say the least.  He had tried to ask the spirits for guidance, only to find them largely silent.  
  
All he knew was something was coming.  He would be ready for it.  
  
A drunk goblin girl bumped into his leg and fell down.  She hiccuped an apology to him and he waved her off, laughing.  When she left, he glanced over at Saurfang again.  The orc had sat down on a crate beside him and was also watching the soldiers run around drunkenly, trying to sample all the beers.  
  
“Varok?” Vol’jin asked quietly.  He rarely used the orc’s first name.  Even if he was his Warchief, it seemed odd still.    
  
“Sir?”  
  
“Do ju t’ink dis can last?  Dis peace?”  
  
Saurfang frowned slightly.  “I don’t know.  It never has . . . But I think you would be the most likely to be successful of anyone.  The Alliance seems to give you the respect you deserve, or at least pretends to.  I think if that’s what you want, then you can make it work.”  
  
Vol’jin nodded absently, running his hand through his red mohawk and looking at the crowd as they celebrated.  They were so relaxed and so happy.  Maybe he was over-analyzing things?  Maybe the spirits were quiet because there were no threats to be worried about?  Maybe the beginning of his rule really would be that sort of impossible miracle as a peaceful world?  
  
Or maybe there was something else he needed to prepare for entirely?  
  
“Saurfang?”  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“Jus’ so ya know, I be keepin’ da tap for da Brewfest ceremony in a box behind my bed.”  
  
Saurfang raised an eyebrow at him.  “Why would I want to know that, Warchief?” he chuckled.  
  
Vol’jin looked at him for a moment, then chuckled as well.  “Oh, it jus’ da beer talkin’.  It be nothin’.”  
  



	2. Continuing the Tradition

**_Author’s Note: Varok Saurfang, Sylvanas Windrunner, Baine Bloodhoof, Lor’themar Theron, Rommath, Halduron Brightwing, Vol’jin, Orgrimmar, and other characters, places, and ideas are all copyright Blizzard Entertainment. Used without permission or profit being made._ **

**_Yes, I know I said that this was going to be a one shot, but I had ideas. This is for real the last part of this story, though. Enjoy._ **

#

It was important to keep the same traditions, even in the midst of an apocalypse. It provided normalcy for the soldiers and civilians that was crucial to keep morale from completely disappearing. It was what Saurfang and the other leaders of the Horde had decided after Vol’jin’s funeral and for the most part it provided a pleasant distraction.

So, he had gone along with the celebrations, even the ones he had always thought a bit odd, such as when grown, fearsome soldiers were giving him small charm bracelets. Still, it evidently entertained the troops, and they had fought so hard, sacrificed so much. He could at least appease their silly rituals. Others, such as the Feast of Winter Veil, were good for the children in Orgrimmar. Many of them seemed to only vaguely understand what was going on. The Horde never sheltered their young ones, but it was still difficult for the youngest ones to grasp why their mothers and father and older siblings would leave one day and never return.

Brewfest, though . . . Brewfest was different. It did not have a long, sacred history within the Horde, even with the former Alliance races of the blood elves and Forsaken. Instead, it was carried over from a ritual at Ironforge, albeit one set up by Chen Stormstout, whom the Horde owed a great deal.

There were also the tactical issues with it. They always set up the booths outside of the gates of Orgrimmar, and the soldiers and civilians who attended seemed to enjoy sampling every single drink they could buy. Normally he would not deny them the fun and distraction, but with the Legion invasion . . . a handful of dread infiltrators could slaughter dozens of inebriated soldiers before they had the sense to fight back. It would not even have to be a large loss in numbers - the terror it would create would serve the Legion’s purposes well, Saurfang knew.

So he had written to the other leaders and asked for their advice.

Warchief Sylvanas did not write back - she was likely too busy to deal with such issues. Saurfang was unsure if the Forsaken set up a beer garden or not. Could they even feel intoxication? He shrugged it off and decided that it was the type of issue he could deal with himself.

Jastor Gallywix had insisted that they continue on with the tradition. He stood to make a good amount of gold from the extra guests in Orgrimmar and now that Saurfang thought about it, he was unsure why he asked his advice at all.

Lor’themar Theron had written back with probably the most reasoned letter. The former Farstrider commander in him had agreed with Saurfang that it would be dangerous, but did say that they were having their own small beer garden at Silvermoon. The Legion had miraculously more or less left the blood elves alone, at least for the time being. He did advise that he had spoken to his trusted advisors, Rommath and Halduron. Rommath had evidently muttered something about the waste of soldiers on the extra security, although Halduron seemed a little overly concerned that they were considering not having the holiday. Lor’themar had mentioned that the man liked his drink.

Ji Firepaw had more or less deferred to Saurfang’s judgement. He was new to being a leader, after all, but he said that he trusted the senior orc’s judgement. Saurfang had to thank him for that.

Finally, he had met with Baine Bloodhoof personally. The young chieftain had been in Orgrimmar to speak with some of his people staying there, and he had stopped by Grommash Hold. Saurfang had then asked him his advice, and he was surprised by his answer, although looking back he should not have been.

At first the Tauren had echoed his and Lor’themar’s concern about safety, but seemed hesitant to say it should be called off. Instead he had assured him that the Tauren would be there and his tribe would be happy to continue on the tradition. He even said that they would help with security and some did not care for the taste of alcohol, anyway. Finally, the conversation turned to what Saurfang knew had been the deciding factor all along.

_“Baine, I don’t know. This seems like it may be too much expense and risk for just the chance for them to drink,” Saurfang had said quietly._

_“Vol’jin would have been devastated if he knew we canceled Brewfest,” Baine had finally blurted out in response._

The assertion had shocked Varok at the time, but he knew it was true. Vol’jin - the Warchief who had loved the disparate races of the Horde as much as his own Darkspear, who was a brilliant tactician who did not shy from shedding blood but never would have brought them into unnecessary danger - would have been heartbroken if he knew they were not having Brewfest.

So, over a year after the initial bloodbath on the Broken Shore, Saurfang entered his former Warchief’s living quarters for only the second time since his funeral.

The first time had been a harried, desperate affair after demons had attacked the funeral. He had approached Rokhan and asked the troll to help him look through the fallen shadow hunter’s many notes and missives that were never sent. They were written in Zandali, likely for ease, but Saurfang had never learned to decipher it. He had hoped that perhaps the troll had learned something or had some information he had failed to pass on before his death. He had hoped to find anything that would help with the invasions.

He had found nothing that would be of any help. Since then he had not entered the room. Even though the new Warchief did not reside in Orgrimmar and he had been entrusted with the city’s protection, it seemed disrespectful to enter the living quarters even today.

When Saurfang pushed open the door, he was greeted with a cloud of orange dust that coated everything in Orgrimmar. He coughed slightly and made his way inside. He had to find the ceremonial keg tap and he got to searching, rubbing the sweat off his brow with the back of his large hand. As he pushed items out of the way, he sighed.

Saurfang knew in his heart that Vol’jin would have wanted him to have Brewfest, but he had begun to wonder why the holiday had been so important to the troll. The former Warchief liked to drink of course - Saurfang had never met a troll that did not - but it seemed to mean something much more to Vol’jin. Did it remind him of his friend Chen, whom had helped him and Go’el establish the Horde when Vol’jin was little more than a boy? That could be it, but Saurfang thought it might be more.

It was the way he watched his troops and civilians at the ceremony. They were always delighted to see him (they could not start drinking before he arrived), but he seemed much happier to see them. Saurfang knew that Vol’jin did not even know most of their names, but they were his family, and he watched them with the same look as a father gives his children.

The memory of the emotion ate at Saurfang’s heart a bit. It was a powerful one indeed.

He sighed and sat down at the foot of the thin cot that had served as the Warchief’s bed and thought. He had sat next to the troll for a few hours the last Brewfest that he held. Usually Saurfang would only stop by for a few minutes, have a few beers, then go back to work, but the last Brewfest, he stayed. He was not sure why, but it had seemed the right thing to do.

Saurfang had known that there had been something a little off about the shadow hunter that day. Vol’jin drank as much as usual and had listened patiently to the stories drunk soldiers had told him and laughed at the incredibly inebriated blood elf trying to kiss an equally inebriated troll. Still, whenever Saurfang would look at him when the Warchief was watching the crowd, he could see a deep sadness in his eyes.

The words that Vol’jin had muttered to him, a seemingly out of the blue statement that Saurfang had attributed to the beer, came back to him.

_“Jus’ so ya know, I be keepin’ da tap for da Brewfest ceremony in a box behind my bed.”_

He **_knew_**.

Had the Loa given him a vision of their defeat at the Broken Shore? No. The Broken Shore had gained them nothing and almost cost them everything. Vol’jin would have never allowed the Horde to enter into a battle they could not win, and he would have done all in his power to dissuade the Alliance from going as well. He would do everything in his power to prevent the thousands of casualties they had suffered.

No, it was not the Horde’s defeat he must have known. It was his own death.

Saurfang turned his head and got up, walking over to the head of the bed and kneeling down. Sure enough, there was a small wooden box with some unknown troll runes carved into the lid. He picked it up, dusting off the orange dust, and opened it.

Inside was the tap, carefully wrapped in a cloth. He pulled the cloth off and looked at it. It was gilded, with black and red jewels decorating it. It was obviously of sin’dorei make, ornate and hardy all in one. Saurfang sighed as he thought of the story from years past. The last tap had broken or had been misplaced and a blood elf ranger had had this one crafted as a replacement. It had been in thanks to the Darkspear troll’s help in protecting their home from the Amani.

Saurfang got to his feet and started to leave the room behind, still staring at the tap. He sighed and smiled sadly.

A sin’dorei-made tap for a pandaren ceremony held in an orcish city, attended by all of its ragtag races.

Saurfang knew why Brewfest had been so important to Vol’jin. It beautifully symbolized the Horde he gave his life for.


End file.
